Not so Compatible
by Hannah Elizabeth
Summary: Spike returns home after a long night and finds his apartment roomy bouncing off the walls. Little sanity follows.


**Author's Note:** This was written for my friend Ruth, who's birthday just passed. The character of Hannah is supposed to be me (and no, I'm not quite as spazzy as this suggests.) Ruth will come up in the next chapter.

Not So Compatible

Hannah paced back and forth around Spike's apartment. The finish on the floor was starting to wear off. She sat down on the couch, only to jump back up in indecision. She turned on the TV for only a second. She fiddled with the arrangement of TV Guides and miselaneus porn on the coffee table.

Spike said that he'd be back by ten thirty. Looking furtively at the clock, Hannah saw that it was now almost two. _If he says he'll be back by a certain time he should be back by that said time, right?_ Hannah asked herself. _Or am I just going crazy? I can't be going crazy now, because when Spike gets home there is going to be some major ass-whoopin'. He's gonna go down like a wannabe foo', yo. Word to _his_ mother._ With the sudden appearance of Hannah's black gangster speak, we can conclude that, in fact, she was going crazy, but does anyone listen to the narrator? No...

At that exact moment a door slammed. Thinking quickly (but not too well) Hannah dove to the ground James Bond style. Grabbing a toothpick-sized knife out of her pocket, she rolled down the leinth of the room and into the kitchen. The tile hurt a bit, but she was too lost in her own little 007 world to notice pain. Until she hit the fridge.

"_Dammit, M, I need backup!_" She yelled into her pager.

Spike stared at her. "What in God's name are you doing you prat?"

Hannah looked up at him and screamed. "_Abort! Abort!"_

Spike pulled her up by the front of her Legolas tee shirt. "Shut up!"

Hannah did, but that was only because his fist was cutting off the oxygen to her lungs.

"Listen," Spike told her. "Quit being such a loser or I'll have to hurt you, got it?"

"Tosser," Hannah wheezed.

"What?" Spike said, lifting her higher off the floor. "Am I wrong or did you just say 'Spike, please take Moocow Beanbottom?'"

Hannah's eyes widened at the thought of what Spike would do to her beloved stuffed cow, and shut up.

Spike dropped her with a triumphant smile. Being about ten times taller than her, it wasn't much of a triumph, but a triumph none the less. He then proceeded to pour himself a drink and the conveniently full minibar.

Hannah lay on the floor, coughing. As she began to catch her breath, she also began fantasizing about Spikes demise. She saw herself pulling down the antique and yet still amazingly sharp sword off of the mantle and slicing his shotglass in half. She saw him scream like a little girl and beg for mercy. She saw herself cut his platinum blond head off and then, without a word, gracefully leap out of the window, her black cape billowing out behind her. Then she realized that she wasn't Zorro, the apartment didn't have a mantle, and Spike probably wasn't a natural blond.

Ignoring Hannah's pathetic attempts at getting up, Spike poured himself another drink, thinking of the past few hours. Those were the greatest hours of his life (which has been quite a while). Everyone was going to _freak_ when they found out.

After quite a while of heavy breathing and sliding around on the floor, Hannah got ahold of her balance and somewhat shakily walked into the living room. She sat down without a glance at Spike picked up a magazine from the table.

"What are you doing?" Her roomy asked her.

"_Je suis ignorez-vous_ing you." She retorted.

"Um, what?" Spike asked, siting across from her. "You're reading the Letters to the Editor section of Penthouse. Upside down"

"Maybe I like a challenge." Hannah told him crossly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to ignore you in peace."

With that she stood up and walked into her bedroom. Spike heard the lock click as she closed the door.

With a sigh Spike followed, leaning on the door and knocking. "Hannah? Come on, Hannah, open the door."

"THE SUN'LL COME OUT... TOMORROW... BET YOUR BOTTOM DOLLAR THAT TOMORROW... THEY'LL BE SUN..." Hannah sang loudly.

Spike banged harder. "Hannah, please! Stop the singing! I'm sorry!"

The terrifying music ended. Brief blessed silence followed.

"Sorry for what?" Hannah asked.

"I don't know! I don't even know what you're so angry about!"

"TOMORROW... TOMORROW... I LOVE YA... TOMORROW..."

"Here we go..." Spike sighed.

**Author's Note:** Next chapter will be up whenever I feel like it. In the next chapter: We find out where Spike was earlier that night and Hannah sings more showtunes!


End file.
